Desperate Need
by esompthin
Summary: First attempt at a lemon with plot. Rated M for later chapters. AU. FrUk. Arthur is addicted to Francis. Francis sees Arthur as just another customer. Thus begins Arthur trying to sort out his feelings for the prostitute.
1. Chapter 1

Arthur Kirkland doesn't consider himself to be a very needy person.

He doesn't need many things from many people. He refuses to accept money from his brothers, convinced they'll use it as blackmail or something of the sort. He doesn't have many friends, nor does he find the need to make any new ones. He doesn't strive to find a bigger home, or a better job, or a pet to take care of.

Arthur simply doesn't feel like he needs many things in his life.

But, there is one thing that he needs desperately every Saturday night.

One thing he looks forward to every week.

One thing he would die without.

The Brit paced in front of his front door all afternoon. He checked his watch: 10:27. Shaking his head, his pacing increased. He's late. He's three hours late. Over three hours, actually. Three hours and twenty-seven minutes, to be precise. He glanced at his watch again. Twenty-eight.

Arthur had everything prepared hours before. The candles he lit where nearly half burned by now. And the soft smell of tea had disappeared from the air long ago. The Brit's hair, once in place and smooth looking, is now tangled and tossed in different directions in his anticipation and worry.

Every Saturday night for two years and this is the first time he's ever been late. Arthur's mind raced, thinking of different scenarios where the other man got in some kind of trouble. Trying to come up with some kind of excuse as to why the other man wasn't here, he began to mutter to himself.

Maybe his car broke down. No. Maybe he got in a fight. He'd lose. Maybe he got thrown in jail because of that fight. I won't bail him out. Okay, yes I will. Maybe he simply forgot. He wouldn't. Would he forget? No! After two years, would it just slip his mind? Well… Maybe he doesn't care anymore. No… Did he even care to begin with?

"I don't know…"

Arthur's mind went blank as he heard the doorbell ring.

The Englishman pulls his door open before the man on his porch can even move his hand away from the doorbell. He's here. He didn't forget. He's not in jail. He's here!

Ignoring the relief that flooded into his heart, Arthur crossed his arms and hissed with as much frustration and fury he could muster, "Mr. Bonnefoy."

Before Arthur could start his well-planned lecture, soft lips pressed themselves against his neck, sucking the skin softly. Warm hands suddenly caressed his hips. The Frenchman's cologne filled the air. All words were lost in the British man's throat at the sudden attack on his senses. He vaguely felt himself being pushed back against the wall, and halfheartedly recognized that his door was now closed.

"Y-you're late." The Brit breathed, half-lidded eyes flicking down to glance over the Frenchman's face. His skin was shiny with the starting drips of sweat. Was he panicking as much as Arthur? Or was it just the summer heat?

The lips left his skin slowly, and the husky voice spoke, "I had another customer. It was sudden." Francis gently pecked Arthur's nose, cupping his face in his hands. His blue eyes searched through green ones. What he was searching for, Arthur couldn't tell.

"Two years." Arthur mumbled, glancing away from the other man, a small blush rising to his cheeks. "Two years every Saturday and you've never been late."

Francis purrs with delight, "Aw, did you get worried about moi?" His hands slide up Arthur's shirt. "You know I'd never forget about my favorite regular." Lips whispered against the Brit's ear as their bodies were pressed against each other in needed closeness.

Regular.

Arthur hates that word. It defines him. It refrains him. But most of all, it explains to him how pathetic he is. Every time it's mentioned, Arthur remembers just how much money he spends to have Francis hold him like this. And how he knows this pretend romance will never be real. It's all just a paycheck for the Frenchman. He's nothing but a glorified prostitute. And Arthur loves every moment of it. It sickens him. Sickens him that he's nothing but a_ regular_ to the other man. Someone addicted to his love. Pathetic.

Arthur doesn't know exactly when his clothes were removed, or how loud he's been moaning. His body reacting excitedly to Francis's long-awaited arrival. He knows he never wants Francis to let him go. And he knows that the Frenchman eventually will, once morning comes. He knows he'll wake up to find the bed empty next to him.

One of them sighs in pleasure as they get into a rhythm.

Yes, there's one thing he needs every week.

One thing he couldn't live without.

Arthur Kirkland needed Francis Bonnefoy every Saturday night.


	2. Chapter 2

And Arthur needed to forget Francis every Sunday morning.

Falling asleep together, feeling loved, and then waking up alone, feeling forgotten, is the worst emotion the Brit has ever experienced in his life. Arms that were once wrapped around him were suddenly gone. The heat he was addicted to disappeared completely. Every Sunday his heart cracks a little more. He fears one day his heart will crack so far, it could never be taped back together. And yet he puts himself through this torture every week. Like the Devil hunting an angel, Sunday always chased after Saturday.

"The things I do for love." Arthur muttered bitterly to himself as he forced his body to get off of his bed and into a warm, welcoming shower.

Arthur showers much more often than the average person. Twice, sometimes three times a day, Arthur will let the streams of warm water fall over his bare skin. He doesn't really know what drives him to shower so much. Maybe it's convenient way to distract himself, since one does get lost in thoughts while in that steam. Maybe it's a way to clean the Frenchman's touch off his skin. A way to free himself of the last lingering touches. A way to clear not just his mind, but also his body of the other man. Maybe he's slowly losing his mind, growing just as addicted to the water drops as he is to Francis.

Or maybe he simply needs to get ready for work.

Work is another form of distraction. Arthur happily keeps his mind off of anything having to do with Saturdays or the French or the mixing smell of tea and coffee and the like. Arthur owns a little bookstore on the corner of the street three miles away from his apartment. While he's not necessarily busy, his employee certainly keeps him on his toes.

"But, like, what if there were aliens with us now? On Earth. And they kicked ass, but they weren't the bad guys, right? What if they kick_ other_ aliens' asses? Like they were protecting us. From the aliens that want to harm us. Like, like, Green Lantern or Doctor Who or something." The younger boy babbled, while lying on the checkout table, right in Arthur's way. He turned so he laid on his stomach, propping up his torso with his arms. His eyes gleamed excitedly as he shouted, "Like Wall-E!"

The bookstore is small, with only three rows of shelves on the front of the store. But the three side walls also have shelves stockpiled with various copies of books. In the middle is the round checkout counter with the cash register and bags and whatnot. There are two cozy chairs next to a coffee table, set there for adding an artistic feel, rather than for actual usage.

Arthur stood in the center of the counter, idly reading a possible new series to add to the store's stock. The Brit rolled his eyes at the other man, and simply grumbled, "I told you not to lay on the counters."

Before Alfred could reply, the little bell on the door ringed to signal someone was walking in. Arthur lifted his eyes from his book to see one of his regulars. "Nice weather out today, isn't it, Mr. Williams?" The Brit said with an attempt at an interested tone.

"Eh, yes. I guess so." The small boy replied as he scuffed his shoes against the doormat, to get off any leftover dirt. Matthew Williams was a nice quiet type. If he weren't coming in every day, Arthur wouldn't have noticed him. But Alfred sure would.

"HEY! IT'S MATTIE!" The blonde shouted, much to Arthur's distaste. Alfred rolled off the counter and bounded over to the boy. Alfred always followed the shy boy around the store. Arthur told him to stop multiple times, disturbing the peace and whatnot, but Matthew told him it was fine. So Alfred hovers around the boy, pointing out new interesting novels and books that were on sale and generally talking Matt's ear off.

Arthur paid no attention to the two. He looked back at his book, lost in thought.

"Eh, these look good, please." Matt said as he placed two small paperbacks on the counter. Arthur snapped out of his daydream to focus on the Canadian.

"Oh, yes, alright. I think I'll have a new shipment of the _Dragon Wars_ series next week, if you're interested." The Brit said as he scanned the barcode of the first book. "Anything else?" He asked as he picked up the second book. His eyes flickered to the Canadian, who was blushing wildly. The book in his hand was titled, _'How to Seduce Someone: Tips, Tricks, and More'_.

Matthew mumbled something quickly that could have been 'No, thank you.', but Arthur wasn't all too sure. So he scanned the barcode and put both the books in a bag. Matthew fumbled with his wallet, leaving a quiet moment that Alfred happily destroyed.

"We should get that book for you, Artie." The American said nonchalantly, his arm slung loosely around Matthew's shoulders.

Arthur flushed, the unexpected comment caught him off guard. "E-excuse me?"

"Seriously! When's the last time you had a girlfriend? Or kissed a girl? Or went on a date?" Alfred listed the questions on his fingers. "Or, hell, even_ spoke _to a pretty girl?" He crossed his arms. Matt faltered slightly as he lost contact with the American. Neither of the other men noticed.

"I speak to many pretty girls!" Arthur snapped, angrily taking Matthew's money and hazardously throwing them in the cash register.

"Book nerds that come in here to buy something don't count." Alfred shot back. He glanced at the Canadian, "No offense."

"None taken." Matthew replied quietly, shifting uncomfortably at the intense scene happening before him.

Arthur didn't know how to respond, so without thinking he nearly shouted, "I'll have you know, I've been with someone for two years now!"

Arthur's mind went blank. He just called Francis his boyfriend. Indirectly. Or directly. Very directly. His mind wandered to thinking about the Frenchman taking him on dates. His heart pounded at the thought of holding his hand and wearing his sweater. He felt like screaming in delight at the idea of making breakfast for him, because it meant that he actually stayed the night and was there in the morning, when Arthur woke up. He just imagined the way Francis's golden locks would shine in the morning light. Butterflies had a rock party in his stomach.

Alfred actually laughed. It started as a giggle, but then turned into a full-on roar. "I- oh god- that's rich! I don't believe that- for the- Jesus- life of me! W-who would want to be with you for that long?" Alfred spoke between gasps for breath, his arms held his stomach as he tried to calm down his laughing fit.

The bookstore owner hissed at him, "What is _that _supposed to mean?"

"Who would want to date you? For _two years_? And _keep coming back_? Are you paying her?" Alfred waved his hands around as he spoke, pounding them slightly on the counter. He turned to the Canadian, "Mattie knows what I'm talking about, right? He gets it. You're just… so… dull. Right, Mattie?"

Both men turned to look at the innocent Canadian, he gave a nervous chuckle as he said quickly, "I just buy books here. And I've bought my books. So, bye." The boy turned and speed walked out of the store faster than Arthur's ever seen him move.

After a moment of watching the Canadian disappear past the windows, Alfred turned back to Arthur, "Seriously though, who is she?"

"Someone you don't know."

"I know everyone."

"That's illogical."

"When do you see her?"

"When you're not around."

"How many times have you done it?"

"T-that is none of your business!"

"I just want a name."

"And I just want to fire you."

"You wouldn't do that. You need me."

Arthur stopped dead in his tracks.

_You need me._

He hates that sentence. Because Everytime he looks at Francis, he hears it. He feels it in his soul. When the Frenchman and he make eye contact, he sees it in those deep blue eyes.

_You need me._

The scariest part about that sentence.

Is that it's true.

"Yeah. I do."


End file.
